


When It Heals, It Beats For You

by Detochkina



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Merlin Holidays 2018, Pining, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-04 16:11:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17307701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Detochkina/pseuds/Detochkina
Summary: Merlin’s flat is a total dump and it’s time to find something better, but he’s facing steep competition. Featuring pet Aithusa, and grown men who don’t know how to express their feelings. Until they do.





	When It Heals, It Beats For You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lemortedmerthur (WhichWolfWins)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhichWolfWins/gifts).



> Thank you to lemortedmerthur for your cute prompt. I had tons of fun writing this piece and I hope you like it. Happy 2019!  
> Thank you very much to my betas for your help and support!  
> And thank you to moderators for running this fest! Happy New Year!

_*_

_from_ **_Mithian_ ** _ <mnemeth@whitecastlelettings.com> _

_to_ **_Merlin_ ** _ <veneficus@gmail.com> _

_Hello Merlin,_

_I have fantastic news! We’ve just received a new listing in Westminster and I really think you need to see it. It’s everything you’ve wanted and more! Attaching pictures. Will you be in the area and available to view it within the hour? Please let me know asap!_

_All the best,_

_Mithian Nemeth_

_Leading Estate Agent and Your Rental Matchmaker in Heaven (also in London and Surrey area)_

**_White Castle Lettings_ **

**_“No Let. No Fee.”_ **

**********

Merlin checks the time on his phone and regards the thick stack of papers in front of him he still needs to grade. Nope, there’s no chance in hell he can finish all of this and make it to Westminster in one hour unless he has a chopper and the potential flat comes with a helicopter pad. Merlin snorts. He should’ve definitely included that in his “must have” list on his assistant professor salary. Yeah, right.

There’s also no way that his letting agent will allow him to ignore her. Mithian, with her perpetually good mood, bright outlook, and go-getter attitude, was determined to find Merlin the flat of his dreams regardless of how much time it was going to take her. So far, it’s been either not in the city centre, or too expensive, or too small... The pickings were especially slim because most places did not allow pets. And that was not negotiable for Merlin — if he were to move anywhere, his sphynx cat Aithusa was coming with him no matter what. Aithusa was a rescue-turned-lifeline for Merlin when he was at his lowest three years ago, and who’d give up a best friend for extra square footage in a posh place with a view to the gardens? Only a wanker, that’s who.

Merlin is definitely not a wanker, you can ask anyone (unless you’re asking the biggest wanker on the planet — his boyfriend, whom he had an epic row with three days ago and isn’t even sure where they stand now — so skip that), but since Merlin put his name in the agreement for Mithian’s services, he might as well go through with it. Maybe. He’ll see.

He replies to Mithian:

 _from_ **_Merlin_ ** _ <veneficus@gmail.com> _

_to_ **_Mithian_ ** _ <mnemeth@whitecastlelettings.com> _

_How much more? Pls send details._

_Can we make it in two hours at least?_

_Merlin_

******

His computer chimes with a new email notification in five minutes:

 _from_ **_Mithian_ ** _ <mnemeth@whitecastlelettings.com> _

_to_ **_Merlin_ ** _ <veneficus@gmail.com> _

_It ticks so many boxes on your wishlist, it’s almost unreal, Merlin! I’m attaching the details._

_Merlin, this property is HOT HOT HOT! Considering the amenities and location, someone else will snatch it up from right under your nose if you don’t act fast. It has a terrace, Merlin. A terrace! They are pet-friendly, and it’s a five-minute walk to the tube. It doesn’t get better than that, does it?_

_The listing agent’s giving me first dibs only because she owes me a favour. One hour head-start is all I’ve got. Are you able to make it by 15:00?_

_All the best,_

_Mithian Nemeth_

_Leading Estate Agent and Your Rental Matchmaker in Heaven (also in London and Surrey area)_

**_White Castle Lettings_ **

**_“No Let. No Fee.”_ **

Merlin reads through the attached listing, and Mithian is right. The flat is in a landmark development in the heart of Westminster. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, open-floor kitchen, fully furnished, rooftop garden, concierge service, and a gymnasium. So that’s kind of fantastic, and also an overkill that would perfectly suit a banker, or a lawyer — or someone with old money who likes to indulge themselves with heated floors. Merlin is none of those things.

He’s always pictured himself in something sunny and cosy, with a library room and a plethora of plants on window sills. Basically, something he already has right now.

And that’s a problem. Merlin sighs. As much as he loves his current flat, he can’t escape the fact that it’s way too small, the windows are leaky, the heater malfunctions for half of each winter, and what he stubbornly likes to call his “library room” is actually a corner in his bedroom with stacks of books covering a large, dark spot on the wall he suspects is actually mould. His current landlord doesn’t give a rat’s arse about it, telling Merlin every time he complains that the rent is so cheap he feels he’s paying Merlin instead.

It’s December, which means barely above zero temperatures in London, and the bloody heater is broken again. Aithusa’s been sneezing all morning, even with her thickest cat sweater on, and it’s painfully clear: if Merlin isn’t keen on having more trips to the vet (and the obscene charges that come with it), he should show more enthusiasm for investing his hard-earned money into moving to a more suitable place. Also, he reckons, he has a certain bet to win and possibly prove something else in the process, and this might be his actual chance. So, looks like the paper-grading will have to wait until later tonight and he’s meeting Mithian at three o’clock at Pikes Place.

******

Pikes Place is every bit as tall, regal, and impressive in person as it is in the pictures, but not as intimidating as Merlin expects. Yes, it has marble stairs leading up to massive Victorian double doors and he spots several people working on landscaping around the building, definitely not sent here by the city. In his haste, Merlin forgot to ask Mithian one important detail pertaining to the actual monthly rent of the flat, and he’s getting a strong “out of Merlin’s financial league” vibe here. Walking up, he can’t resist the festive charm of two small Christmas trees framing the entrance, decorated for the holidays and blinking invitingly. A pram left by the stairs with a blue blanket sticking out only adds to the warm, domestic feeling about this place. The signs cannot be more clear for Merlin to drop his biases and indecisiveness and keep an open mind. He buzzes the intercom.

******

The flat is on the last floor and it takes Merlin a moment to realise that having only one door on the landing makes the apartment he’s about to see practically a penthouse. His jitters are back.

“Jesus Christ, Merlin,” he mutters. “What has your life become?”

As if he’s making a major sacrifice here, agreeing to look at a more-than-decent apartment in a nice neighbourhood. But it’s so far out of his comfort zone, he has to take a few deep breaths before ringing the bell.

Mithian’s expression when she opens the door is one of relief mixed with guilt. She pulls a hesitating Merlin inside by his sleeve, whispering, “I’m glad you made it, Merlin, but I’m so sorry, there’s someone already here who was apparently also slotted for the same time as us. I’m not surprised, considering his agent. She was the one doing me this favour of having an early viewing and now she’s here with her own client like it’s nothing. Ughhhh.” Mithian rolls her eyes and lets out a long huff. “I couldn’t even argue the point because, technically, she _is_ letting us in early. Also, she’s got, like, every connection in the business, and it’d be unwise of me to make a fuss, you know?”

“Um.” Merlin gives her a weak smile. “Oh-okay.”

Mithian keeps talking while helping Merlin out of his coat. “Her client seems a bit of a plonker and he’s…” She makes an exasperated sound and waves towards the end of the long hallway in a gesture that Merlin reads as a description of something fanciful. “But you know what?” she says, “I don’t want you to pay them any mind, Merlin, and don’t worry, you have no lesser chance at getting this flat, I promise you. I’ll pull every string I have if you decide you like the place, okay? We’re not giving up!”

She gives Merlin a slight tug forward.

Honestly, Merlin isn’t even surprised at this point. It’s not like he isn’t aware of the steep competition for properties in desirable neighbourhoods. He’s heard it all about low inventory, high demand, and being too picky and too slow. He’s not picky, all right? He just wants to keep his independence without going broke within the first six months of moving. That’s not too much to ask.

Merlin’s being walked into a large room with parquet floors and picture windows that bring in so much light, he squints before his eyes adjust.

“As you can see, the kitchen is brand new, completely open, and fully fitted with the latest appliances.” Mithian begins the tour. “It flows right into the lounge room like you wanted.”

Merlin nods. He doesn’t want to, but he finds himself instantly liking how the white cabinets contrast with the dark granite of the kitchen island, accented by the shiny steel of the sink and the professional-looking stove. Even with his cooking skills limited to cheap takeaways, he agrees that this kitchen is a dream.

“Here’s the lounge room,” Mithian explains the obvious as they move along. “The flat is fully furnished — your other ask — but of course you’re free to add or change any pieces to make it yours.”

Merlin doesn’t think that’s actually necessary, quietly admiring the deliberate mismatch of styles in the room. There’s a vintage armchair with the elaborate fabrique design, beautifully carved arms and turned legs next to a modern sofa made of sharp angles. A simple glass-and-metal coffee table is sitting on a lush-looking Persian rug. Several colourful pillows and a throw blanket over the back of the sofa draw Merlin in, and he can already picture himself cosying up there with a book, a tea, and a purring Aithusa. After a long day dealing with his students, what absolutely does it for Merlin is there’s no telly in sight. Merlin can totally live here.

“Let me walk you through the rest of the flat.” Mithian’s voice breaks Merlin’s daydreaming. Merlin turns, agreement ready on his tongue, and is nearly knocked over by Mithian backing right into him with a shriek like she’s just seen a ghost. Her heel nearly nails his toe to the floor. The pain in his foot is so sharp, Merlin sees stars.

Mithian clutches her chest. “Bloody hell, you scared me! I nearly had a heart attack,” she admonishes a tall blond bloke standing in the doorway. Merlin can’t see much through his teary vision. “You shouldn’t be sneaking up on people like that, Mr Pendragon.”

“Erm, my apologies. But please, Mr Pendragon is my father. You can call me Arthur,” the tall figure says pleasantly. “Are you all right?” he asks, obviously addressing Merlin. Merlin forgets about his pain instantly.

This is embarrassing, and of course, it’s just his luck that he has to deal with his competition face-to-face while he’s hobbled on one leg. But Merlin’s never been a wuss when it counted, so he blinks away the unwelcome tears, hides his hurt foot behind his good leg, and meets his competitor’s eyes. Arthur’s gaze on Merlin is intent, his brows pulled into a concerned frown, which isn’t helping Merlin’s hostility.

He wishes he could respond, but he’s tongue-tied, as it happens practically every time he sees a fit, sharply dressed, blue-eyed bloke, who’s also considerate. This is exactly his type. Exactly.

“I’m perfectly fine,” Merlin croaks. He tries to clear his throat, but all that comes out is some more frog noises. This sucks. He glances at Mithian helplessly.

Mithian, noting Merlin’s distress, chimes in. “Mr Pendragon, errr… Arthur,” she says to the other guest. “If you’re done, we’ll take our turn in the bedrooms.”

Arthur cocks his head, his eyes crinkling. “Not both of them, I hope.” He’s still only looking at Merlin.

Merlin feels himself colour at the suggestive implication. “You…” he starts, taking a step, but to his surprise, Mithian just laughs.

“I stepped right into that one, didn’t I? My mouth will be my demise.”

“Or someone’s just being a prat,” Merlin mutters, loud enough though.

“Amen to that.” A dark-haired woman appears next to Arthur. “Hello,” she says mildly while typing something on her phone.

“Merlin, this is Morgana Le Fey. Mr Pendragon’s agent,” Mithian explains.

Morgana waves in greeting without raising her eyes. “Pleasure.” She doesn’t look it.

So, this is the infamous agent with many connections. Merlin’s heard of her but stubbornly chose Mithian because her enthusiasm was contagious and because she kept emailing him funny cat jokes. Of course, he was sold.

He studies Morgana. In a severe ponytail, well-pressed blue pantsuit and matching stilettos that look like weapons, he isn’t surprised she represents someone like Arthur Pendragon. They look like a power couple on a mission to take over the throne, not just some two-bedroom penthouse in Westminster. Merlin can feel his hopes tumble to a nearly crushing level.

“This place is perfect for you, Arthur,” Morgana says, her fingers and eyes still glued to her phone’s screen. “Have you made your decision?”

“I’d rather keep you in suspense for a bit longer,” Arthur answers, winking at Merlin.

“Brilliant,” Morgana mutters. “Mithian, I need to talk to you.” She doesn’t wait for a response and disappears without sparing anyone a single glance.

Mithian sighs loudly, shaking her head. “Sorry, I’ll be right back.” She follows Morgana into the depths of the rest of the flat still unexplored by Merlin.

Merlin glares at Arthur, who’s smirking and leaning against the door frame so casually, it’s like he already owns the place. He has half a thought to say screw this and just leave, but that means he’ll most assuredly lose the bet. So no, screw that, he decides. This is important to him. He rocks on his feet, which always helps him in his decision-making process, and is about to announce that it’s now his turn to give both bedrooms a good whirl, thank you very much, and no one can stop him.

Merlin’s mistaken — surprise, surprise — as Arthur interrupts his ambitious plan with a thrusting hand and a, “We haven’t been formally introduced, I’m afraid. I’m Arthur Pendragon, and you are?”

It’s all done with a quirk of a smile, his innocently wide eyes staring at reeling Merlin, which Merlin knows not to believe for one second. Never trust sweet-talking, gorgeous-looking, flat-stealing blokes. Because first they steal your bet from under your nose, and next — they will steal your heart. Merlin’s been there, done that, and owns the t-shirt about it in a size extra-large.

But fine, Merlin tells himself, if those are the rules of the game here, and that’s how this plonker wants to play it, he’ll play along. Gladly, in fact.

So he shakes Arthur’s offered hand. It’s large, larger than Merlin’s, warmer than Merlin expects. Arthur’s grip is firm and lingering, with some promise of more than just a token of a cordial greeting. Merlin narrows his eyes at Arthur, but Arthur just arches his brow at him, smiling wider. _What. An. Arse._

“Not that introductions are necessary,” Merlin says as nonchalantly as possible. “But okay, _Mr Pendragon_ , since you insist. My name’s Merlin. Merlin Emrys.”

“Very nice to meet you.” Arthur doesn’t skip a bit. “May I call you Merlin?”

Merlin snorts. “You most certainly may not.”

Arthur’s eyes flash with amusement. “Very well. I apologise for overstepping.”

“Apology accepted, but don’t do that again,” Merlin warns.

“Maybe just one more time?” Arthur still hasn’t let Merlin’s hand go, and Merlin prays Arthur doesn’t notice his palm getting damp from his nerves. “May I just ask? Are you on the market yourself, Mr Emrys?”

Merlin freezes. The bastard is playing dirty. Well then, Merlin will step up as well. He pulls his hand free.

“Why? Looking for a sugar daddy to cover the rent for this place? You signed up for the wrong service, mate.”

Arthur throws his head back and laughs. Merlin pretends he doesn’t admire the smooth column of his throat and the sharp lines of his jaw, but of course, he likes the sight of it — of this beautiful man in front of him who gives as good as he gets. It’s hard to compete with someone who’s not only obviously attractive but also appreciates your jokes.

“What if I’m just looking for someone special to, you know, _room_ _and_ _board_.” Arthur wiggles his brows. “And happen to think you check all my boxes?”

Merlin purses his lips. “Do you wax poetic to every stranger you meet?”

“Ah.” Arthur smirks. “But what if our meeting here wasn’t exactly coincidental?”

Merlin pretends his heart doesn't skip a beat. “A stalker, then?”

“I prefer ‘a secret admirer’,” Arthur suggests.

“So, all this,” Merlin gestures around, “is a trap?”

“Oh no, this is very much real, Mr Emrys,” Arthur says. “Are you really interested in this place?”

Merlin hesitates, but even without seeing the rest of the flat, the place checks too many boxes for him already to give it up, so he nods.

Arthur looks way too satisfied, almost smug. “Well, I’m interested too — extremely, as a matter of fact — and willing to fight for it. What are you willing to do?”

Merlin raises his chin, meeting Arthur’s challenging gaze. “More than you think I’m capable of.”

Arthur makes an impressed face, nodding. “We’re at an impasse, then. However, do you suggest we solve it?”

Merlin shrugs. “You let me have it, of course.”

Arthur scoffs. “There’s absolutely no chance I’d do that. I didn’t come here to lose.”

“Well, me neither,” Merlin insists, “so...”

Arthur thinks for a second, and there’s a glint in his eyes Merlin can tell will lead to nothing but trouble for him. “I believe there’s only one solution.”

It takes Merlin a moment to figure out that Arthur’s expecting a response from him. “Huh?”

“I have a solution,” Arthur repeats, smiling and so obviously enjoying his effect on Merlin.

“Uh-huh,” Merlin says, clearly slow on the uptake. “What kind?”

“We both sign the lease,” Arthur offers. “I promise, I can easily cover my part of the rent.”

Well, that definitely escalated too quickly. Merlin blinks.

Arthur grins. “Did I fluster you, Emrys? That blush is very fitting on you.”

Bullshit, Merlin isn’t blushing. He looks down, his face feeling hot.

Oh bollocks, he’s totally blushing.

It’s a game, he has to remind himself, and so far he’s not scoring any major points. He can do better.

He clears his throat. “And if I have a girlfriend or a boyfriend? What if I’m not interested in sharing?”

“I’m not a sharer either, I assure you, but there’s something about you...” Arthur shakes his head, stepping closer. He pauses. “So, which one is it?”

Merlin takes a step back, losing himself in Arthur’s burning gaze. He opens his mouth and forgets to close it.

Arthur takes him by his chin. “I’m waiting, Emrys.”

Merlin swallows. “Um.” He glances away. “I have a boyfriend.”

Arthur’s expression softens for a split moment. He hums. “I see. And are you two serious?”

Merlin jerks out of Arthur’s grasp, suddenly out of breath.

Being in the relationship for less than a year, Merlin still avoids such big words as “commitment”, “a couple”, or even a simple “us”. Arthur’s just nailed the problem right on the head.

Three years ago, after Merlin’s breakup with Cenred, who lied and stole from him, and after losing his mum to cancer right after that, Merlin could hardly trust anyone. Perhaps Aithusa, his twin in misfortune, mangled and dumped by previous owners, and nursed back to life by Merlin. They had each other, and for a while, Merlin thought that coming home to an empty flat with a cat was all there would ever be for him. Merlin wanted to open his heart, wanted something deep and meaningful with another person again; he wasn’t made of stone, and sometimes, lately, it felt like he might be getting pretty close, but still not close enough to admit any of his feelings out loud.

It probably isn’t fair. Christ, after their fight, followed by three days of complete radio silence, which was killing him — Merlin can admit at least that now — he knows it’s not fair to either of them. And that’s why he’s still going along with this stupid bet, although it’s very obvious he can’t afford this place by himself.

“Hey,” Arthur calls softly. “Where did you go?”

Merlin blinks. “I…” He doesn’t think he can explain himself properly, especially here and now, and does he really have to? He meets Arthur’s eyes. “I’m fine.”

Arthur nods, and this time, he’s the one looking away. “Okay.” But he doesn’t step aside, still in Merlin’s space, waiting for something.

“What?” Merlin asks. “What do you want?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Merlin knows he didn’t, and he knows his answer is important. To himself, foremost.

He takes a deep breath. “I thought we were serious.”

Arthur tilts his head. “Were? And now?”

Merlin bites his lip. “I’m not sure. I’m afraid it’s not up to me.”

“Interesting,” Arthur says, and he’s so close, Merlin feels Arthur’s breath on his face.

He inhales, closing his eyes. His legs are unsteady. Through the blood whooshing in his ears, he registers a faint click of the door in the hallway. His eyes fly open.  

“My agent’s gone and she took yours with her,” Arthur whispers, placing a hand on the wall next to Merlin’s head.

“Wh... why?” Merlin stammers.

“Because I asked her to.”

“You planned this. You—” Merlin’s distracted by Arthur’s other hand on the wall, boxing him in. His mouth goes dry.

“Of course I planned this,” Arthur says. “How else would I get my way with you?” If it were meant as a joke, it doesn’t feel like it as soon as he brushes his mouth against Merlin’s.

Merlin forgets how to breathe. He’s supposed to have a boyfriend, he reminds himself faintly. He must remind Arthur of this if they are to keep up with this charade any longer.

“Arth—” he starts and loses the rest of the thought once Arthur’s hips connect with his. He moans at the scorching feeling of Arthur’s crotch grinding against his. “Please,” he manages out.

“Please what?” Arthur asks, lightly kissing the corner of his mouth. He stops his grinding but keeps himself pressed into Merlin. “Still worried about your boyfriend, I take it?”

He shakes his head. “It’s not about that.”

“Tell me, then.”

Arthur’s trembling against him and it makes something inside Merlin ache. God, who’s the plonker now?

“Last Sunday,” Merlin says, searching Arthur’s face. “I’m sorry.”

Arthur’s eyes cloud for a moment. “For?”

“I shouldn’t have said the things I said,” Merlin says sincerely. “I should’ve…”

“What?” Arthur asks, leaning away a little, taking his weight off Merlin, and Merlin misses it right away.

He pulls him back by his perfectly starched shirt, wrinkling it and having no regrets about it. Rumpled, breathless Arthur is the most attractive Arthur to Merlin of all the versions he knows.

“I should’ve told you that you were right about that dump flat of mine and that Aithusa and I can’t wait to move in with you. Here, if you like it.”

“Okay being my sugar daddy, after all?” Arthur jokes. He leans in to press his mouth to Merlin’s neck. “I missed you. Why didn’t you call?”

“I was an absolute wanker,” Merlin admits. “But I want you to know I wasn’t going to give up on us.” He moans as soon as Arthur begins grinding against Merlin’s hip again and wriggles, helping him to pull off his sweater. He catches Arthur’s mouth in a hard kiss as soon as he’s free. “Bedroom?” he asks.

Arthur shakes his head. “I don’t think I can make it that far.”

Their hands shake as they try to unfasten each other’s trousers.

“I don’t have anything,” Merlin mumbles regretfully into Arthur’s another kiss.

“I do,” Arthur responds with a flitting smile.

Merlin rolls his eyes. “Of course. Because you _planned_ this.” He’s being shut up with another searing kiss.

He doesn’t remember how they both got naked from the waist down, and as soon as they connect skin to hot skin, Merlin loses it. “Arthur, fuck, please.”

“Sofa or kitchen island?” Arthur asks, panting. He’s holding and stroking them both.

“Wall, now,” Merlin demands, nearly out of his mind from wanting Arthur so much. Longest three days of his life.

“You’ll be the death of me,” Arthur promises, turning him around and pressing into him.

“Not for fifty years, at least,” Merlin mutters.

Arthur seems to like the answer so much, he groans, and the next ten minutes or a hundred (Merlin doesn’t care), spends his time fucking Merlin’s brains out against the poor wall.

It’s good — the sex — so good, which is nothing new. Sex with Arthur has always been fantastic. But there’s something else between them today that has nothing to do with the pleasure of the act itself, and everything with the way Arthur holds Merlin while they tip over, coming. How he doesn’t let go of Merlin until long after, and all Merlin wants is to kiss and kiss Arthur into oblivion. They don’t notice the time until the room is dark.

******

Merlin does manage to check at least one of the bedrooms and the en-suite bathroom after all when they dip into the loo for a quick wash.

“Do you really like this place?” Arthur asks, looking at Merlin in the mirror, his reflection a bit distorted but still every bit as handsome.

Merlin hums. “Very much so.”

“So you see yourself living here?” Arthur asks. He pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket, wipes his hands, and hands it to Merlin to dry his.

“I do.” Merlin nods. “I think Aithusa will love it too, especially the terrace.”

Arthur turns to face Merlin. “And what about me?”

Merlin hates that he’s the reason for the uncertainty in Arthur’s eyes. He takes Arthur’s hand and kisses his knuckles softly. “Arthur, we both know I’d never move into this place without you. You’re sort of a prerequisite to the entire thing. Financial and otherwise.”

Arthur chuckles, squeezing his hand. “Oh, the romantic in you, my poor heart.”

Merlin brushes Arthur’s hair away from his eyes. “I know. I’m sorry. But I do want this. With you. Will you move in with me?”

With a grin, Arthur leans forward, his lips about to touch Merlin’s, but he stops. “What about the bet?”

Merlin stops chasing Arthur’s mouth and frowns. “The bet?”

Oh, he forgot all about that. Rats.

Arthur shifts a bit back. “Don't you think I won?”

Merlin balks. “What?” He drops Arthur’s hand. “No way! Your bet was I wouldn't even hire an agent, let alone find a flat myself. I found this place with Mithian, my agent!”

“No, Morgana, who’s _my_ agent, found this place and she helped me arrange this appointment for you.”

And that was their issue: Arthur always jumped in to help, even when Merlin didn't need him to, wasn't ready for it — or so he believed.

Merlin bites his lip in thought. He might've been a bit too harsh in his judgment of Arthur's intentions, but there’s no way he’d give up this easily. “But we’ll be both on the lease, and Mithian will be running through all the proper forms for me,” he protests.

“True. True,” Arthur agrees, also pensive. “So, how do we resolve this?”

Merlin has an idea.

"How about we compromise?" Pulling Arthur in, he turns their bodies together so that he's pressing Arthur against the sink. To drive the final point home, Merlin gives him a whisper of a kiss to his jaw and briefly hitches his hips into Arthur’s. That elicits the desired result: Arthur's breath catches. He bids, “We agree it’s a draw and let Morgana and Mithian figure out the commission.”

“You don’t play fair,” Arthur says, clearing his throat, then smiles. “All right, a draw it is. Morgana will probably eat your Mithian for breakfast.”

Merlin doesn't think so. “Oh, I saw Mithian in line for coffee once. When that woman is going after something, she doesn’t pull any punches. She’ll be fine.”

Arthur laughs. “Fine. Now. I have very good news.” He grabs Merlin’s hand. “There's mistletoe in the guest bedroom.”

“By all means then, we must take advantage of it.” Somehow, Merlin’s certain he'll get a bit more than just a festive kiss under the mistletoe, and he's already looking forward to spending their Christmas together in what he’s sure will be their first home. “Please, lead the way.”

 

THE END


End file.
